


Dragon At Dawn

by KoboldKing



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 09:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19438765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoboldKing/pseuds/KoboldKing
Summary: A dragon, a heroine, and a murderer remembers her birth.





	Dragon At Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to [holliequ's prompt thread on reddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/FanFiction/comments/c7q2jp/dabble_in_drabbles_july_2019_daily_prompts/)

Elyssa hadn't been born until her first kill.

The memories of it were as disjointed as memories of childhood—some parts remained as vivid as a dazzling sunrise, where others had faded into a blur. She remembered the scent of blood and the terrified screams of the woman she'd come across, but couldn't remember the woman's name. She'd run a mill, she thought. She'd offered her a job chopping lumber for coin, but Elyssa had taken up the woodcutter's axe and done what had come inexplicably naturally to her... turning it upon the woman herself.

It was in that moment that life felt real for the first time in her existence. The air had felt crisp against her skin. The sunlight felt warm. The horizon seemed solid, and for the first time she felt excited for the next day. For the next kill.

Of course, the people of Skyrim found this new life of hers far less acceptable than the timid existence she'd led as a young girl. She'd had to drag the body into a nearby river, and change into a spare, loose-fitting set of clothes found in the mill keeper's home. She'd endured the suspicious gazes of town guards as she walked among them, and learned to hide her one joy in life. It seemed almost funny that Skyrim couldn't have cared less what her father had done to her while secluded in their home, yet seemed so up in arms if she so much as stole a cabbage without dropping some septims.

But she was long past feeling bitter. The people of Skyrim lived life as they knew how, worshipping their heroes and decrying their villains. She couldn't fault them for that. Such simple stories were entertaining, and gave life their own sort of meaning. It was so easy to see King Olaf One-Eye as a hero who'd bested a dragon, nevermind whatever the real story was. It was so easy to see Ulfric Stormcloak as an agent of the divines or as a vile daedra, rather than the tired man that she'd seen when she'd sneaked into the Palace of the Kings. Stories were simple. Life was complex. Why not strive to see life as more of a story?

Elyssa sometimes found herself doing the same. It could be so hard to tell where she stood in this world. From the perspective of a seasoned storyteller she seemed to be every possible character at once. To the nameless, terrified woman who ran a mill, Elyssa was the direst monster to ever come crawling out of the earth. But to Aventus Aretino, Elyssa was a shining heroine from straight out of the epic tales. To the guards of Skyrim she was akin to the Falmer, a skulking menace that could be hiding in any shadow. But to those who prayed to their nightly mother for salvation, Elyssa was a messenger of the supernal.

Life wasn't a story. She couldn't be both a flawless heroine and a vile monster. She had to be either one or the other, or perhaps neither. Neither seemed more accurate. When half the people she met blessed her for the bandits she'd eradicated and the other half cursed the ground she walked upon, it became clear she was something more than just a storybook character.

She was the only one playing _the game._ Not a human but a dragon, set loose by her father to raze the world and give men something to sing about in their stories. He'd died by his own hand, his experiments all failures, convinced he'd left no legacy behind him. Elyssa could think back to him with a rueful smile, realizing this was untrue. He'd left her behind. The rituals he'd cast on her had crafted a dragon.

And stumbling out of the darkness, alone and adrift, the dragon had found her way to a small mill by a gurgling river. And hefting a woodcutter's axe too heavy for one arm, laughably clumsy but suddenly sure of her purpose, she had realized what she really was.

The sun was rising on the horizon, illuminating Dawnstar with a warm glow. Elyssa breathed in the cold air and pulled her red and black robes tighter around herself. A black handprint completed the attire, a symbol of that which had given the dragon a purpose to pursue. A direction to fly in, one might say.

She'd risen so high, done so much. Yet however long she lived in this brief and cruel world she'd remember that mill.

She'd remember when she'd first taken flight.


End file.
